


Where My Thought's Escaping

by Gleennui



Category: Rocky Road (2014)
Genre: Break Up, Coming Out, Grinding, Ice Cream, Inexplicable attachments to juicers, Light Bondage, Mary Sue Big Bang, Multi, Original Character(s), Realization, Sexual Identity, way too many jokes about the name Harrison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 15:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5210561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gleennui/pseuds/Gleennui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison Burke is living the idyllic small town life: he’s running the family business, he’s involved in his community and his church, and he’s dating his high school sweetheart. After the high-paced, stressful world of Wall Street, coming home again seems to be everything Harrison ever wanted. But a chance encounter at a wedding serves to give Harrison a stark lesson about himself, his happiness, and what happens when what you really want is exactly what you’re not supposed to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where My Thought's Escaping

**Author's Note:**

> This work was created for the [Mary Sue Big Bang](http://marysuebang.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.
> 
>  
> 
> [Fanmix and cover art by patchfire](http://patchfire.livejournal.com/769737.html)

 

 

 

“Oh that’s-- Harry!”

Harrison looks up and blinks, uncomprehending. Suzie’s smiling at him, but it’s the face she makes when one of her students shows her a finger painting she doesn’t understand. “Yes?”

“Did you not see the suit I left out, sweetie?” Suzie pats his arm and points to the bed, where Harrison’s least-favorite gray suit is lying, complete with socks and boxers.

“I just felt like this one today,” Harrison shrugs. “I like it.” He tugs his tie into a Westminster knot and presses it at the divots with his fingers. It’s one of the only suits he has left from his Wall Street days, and he pulls the jacket on, running his fingers along the cuffs to pull it straight.

“Don’t you think you might like the lighter suit better, though?” Suzie rests her hand on his bicep. “It’s a day wedding. You might be too warm in the dark gray.”

Harrison leans over and kisses her forehead. “You’re always looking out for me.” He grabs the suit off the bed and starts hanging it back up. “Remind me what I need to know for this thing, again?”

“Oh, Harry,” Suzie tuts. “Jessica’s fiance is Scott, remember? He’s from Boston so just don’t insult the Red Sox and you’ll be fine.” She turns from putting her earrings in and looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harrison chuckles. He heads into the living room, where the Huskies game had been paused, and sits with his phone to track the conference games. He groans when he sees the score of the Temple game. Fucking Owls. What a stupid name for a football team.

“How do I look?”

Suzie’s standing in the doorway, arms outstretched. She’s wearing a purple dress Harrison’s never seen before, and he lets his eyes linger on the way it clings to her ass when she spins for Harrison to get a better look. She’s grinning expectantly, eyes wide, and he crosses the room to kiss her before answering.

“Gorgeous.”

Scott’s not a Red Sox fan. He’d told Harrison that his mother’s from Annapolis and the entire family roots for the Orioles. But Suzie’s beaming at him and her eyes are shining and Harrison knows he’ll never say a word.

 

It’s still early enough in September that it’s nice and warm around mid-day but not so early that the leaves aren’t turning, so Harrison takes advantage of the post-wedding scrum Suzie’s smack-dab in the middle of to wander around the church campus, idly taking in the foliage and checking his phone while he walks. UConn’s about to lose, and Harrison glares at the app, muttering to himself.

“What’d Apple ever do to you?”

Harrison looks up, blinking at the sun coming through the trees right at his eyeline. Some guy he’s never seen before is standing way closer to Harrison than he’s comfortable with, an eyebrow raised.

“Uh. It-- what?”

The guy laughs-- _laughs_ , like he and Harrison share some kind of joke--and points to Harrison’s phone.

“You’re looking at it like personally betrayed you. What’d it do, steal your boyfriend?”

Harrison looks from the guy to the now-dark screen of his phone back to the guy again. He has no idea who this jackass is, but he’s definitely sure he wants him out of his sight as soon as possible.

“Whoa, hey,” Harrison shakes his head, holding up his free hand. “I don’t know what your deal is, man, but I’m--”

“There you are!” Suzie’s a little bit breathless when she gets to him, and she takes his hand, gently tugging him toward the parking lot. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m so rude!” It takes Harrison a beat to realize she’s talking to the guy, who is _still_ standing there, smirking. “I’m Suzie. Sorry to take Harry away like this, but we’re meeting my friends before the reception. We’ll see you there?” She doesn’t seem to wait for a response, instead tugging Harrison toward the car again. When Harrison looks back over his shoulder--to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind, he rationalizes--the guy salutes him, winking, and slings his suit coat over his shoulder before heading off in the opposite direction.

Weirdo, Harrison thinks, and shakes his head, dutifully following Suzie to the car. Suzie and her friends had decided to get coffee at The Sawmill, which wasn’t around before Harrison left for New York and has food poisoned him twice since he came back, so Harrison just knocks back a Jack and Coke and loses himself in a conversation with Suzie’s friend Michelle’s date about the relative merits of _Street Fighter 2_ versus _Mortal Kombat._

They’re at the restaurant so long that Harrison’s pretty sure they may never go to the reception, but before he can contemplate just giving in and ordering food to get his stomach to stop growling, Suzie’s hand is on his leg and she’s reaching for her tiny fancy-party purse. If they hurry, maybe there’ll still be mini quiches left.

 

“Another?” Harrison shakes off the bartender, who’s wiggling a bottle of Jack at him, and sips his drink, wrinkling his nose at how watered-down it is. He figures it’s his own damn fault, since he’s been sitting and nursing the same Jack on the rocks for probably a half hour while Suzie and her friends dance with the bride.

“Don’t listen to him.” Harrison startles as someone sidles up next to him and gestures to the bartender. “I hear they’re playing the ‘Macarena’ next. He’ll need this.”

It’s the guy from the church yard; of course it is. Harrison groans inwardly and accepts the drink from the bartender with a pained smile. He’s not sure what he did to deserve this, but whatever it was, he’s wholeheartedly sorry.

“Thanks, man, but I’m just gonna--”

“Do what?” The guy raises an eyebrow at Harrison, who finds himself sitting back down before he realizes he’d been starting to stand. “There’s no cake out yet, and I _know_ you don’t want to ‘eyyyy, Macarena’ with Scott’s great-aunt Margie out there.”

Harrison huffs a little and sips his drink, swallowing a larger mouthful than he planned and wincing at the burn. “No,” he croaks out, clearing his throat, “I don’t.” He picks his phone up from where it was lying on the bar, and unlocks it, deliberately turning away from the guy, who was _still_ raising his eyebrow at Harrison in a way that was making him want to _move_.

“I see you’ve forgiven your phone for its transgressions.”

Harrison snorts out a laugh despite himself and then sighs, shaking his head just slightly. It’s obvious that the guy isn’t going away anytime soon. “You don’t want to know what I demanded for absolution.”

Harrison must have caught the guy off-guard, because he laughs suddenly, his face brightening. “Davis Cooper,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Davis? Isn’t that a last name?” Harrison grins wryly, shaking his hand.

“Okay, smart guy, what’s your name?”

“Harr--” he sighs, knowing what’s coming “Harrison. Harrison Burke.”

“Well, well, well!” Davis smirks and folds his arms. “William Henry? Benjamin?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s not, uh…” Harrison takes another gulp of his whiskey, like that’s actually going to make him stop talking. “Not my legal name.” He shrugs, as if this is a normal thing to tell a stranger you only met because he wouldn’t leave you alone to drink in peace.

“Oh yeah?” Davis swings on his stool toward Harrison and leans against the bar. He takes a swig of the beer Harrison just now notices he’d ordered and looks at Harrison over the rim, waiting.

“It’s _Harry_. Which is fine here,” Harrison waves his hand to indicate all of New Hampshire, and hopes Davis gets his point. “But in New York…” He shrugs again. It’s enough of an explanation, anyway.

“New York, huh.” Davis frowns a little and takes a long pull of his beer. “What do you do there?”

“Did. I _did_ day trading.” Harrison stops there, signaling for another drink. He’s vaguely aware of “The Electric Slide” playing on the dance floor.

“So what happened? Was it like some Martha Stewart deal?” Davis’s eyebrows shoot up and he grins wickedly. “Are you on the _lam_?”

Harrison rolls his eyes, but he’s holding back a laugh. “If I was on the lam, why’d I end up back in my hometown? Give me a little credit here.”

“Hometown, huh?” Davis looks like he’s hiding a grin, but his tone is missing an edge. “Sleep in your childhood room and everything?”

“Not since July!” Harrison huffs. “They didn’t appreciate my juicer.” Davis looks like he’s going to say something to that, so Harrison shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“So the flustered girl from church? Is she your high school sweetheart and everything or is that just too perfect?”

Harrison looks past Davis to the dance floor, where Suzie is _still_ in the middle of her group of friends, clearly holding court. “Believe it or not….”

“Oh that’s even better than I was hoping, William Henry.” Davis winks at Harrison over his beer. Harrison turns back to his fresh drink and drains half of it in one go. “Hey, sorry. You know. About before?”

All Harrison can do is nod into his whiskey and empty the glass to chase the sudden flashes of memory.

“‘s fine,” he handwaves again, which the bartender must take as an order, because Harrison has a fresh tumbler in front of him before he knows what’s happening. He’s pretty buzzed already, and curses the fact that there’s no public transportation in what feels like the entire state of New Hampshire. He hopes Suzie’s stuck to soda, because he _definitely_ doesn’t feel like calling his parents. Not tonight.

Harrison must be drunker than he thinks, because he realizes Davis somehow has taken his phone and is typing something into it.

“Hey!” Harrison grabs for it, but Davis pulls the phone away, chuckling and spinning in his stool.

“No way, Benjamin. I’m giving you my number so you can tell me more about your fugitive lifestyle.” Davis’s phone rings with what Harrison can only assume is a text from his own phone, and he picks it up while simultaneously sliding Harrison’s back. “And now I’ve got yours. Magic awaits, Harrison. Magic awaits.” He waggles his eyebrows a little and Harrison feels his gut clench.

“There you are!” Suzie wraps her arms around Harrison’s neck and kisses his cheek. She smells like sweat and her sweet perfume, and Harrison turns his head away before he can stop himself. “Are you having fun? I’m sorry I was dancing so long! Oh, hi again!”

Harrison turns back in time to catch the look Davis gives him, and Harrison suddenly wishes he could actually crawl _into_ his whiskey.

“Davis Cooper. Harry here has told me so much about you.” He flashes Suzie a grin. Suzie touches her hair and actually _blushes_ even pinker over her dancing flush. Harrison sees Davis notice and bite back a smile.

“Is the cake out yet?” Harrison idly asks, sliding off his stool and nudging Suzie back toward their table. “Suddenly, I’m starving.”

“Oh!” She looks over her shoulder. “You can still talk to your friend if you want! I don’t mind!”

Harrison glances back, despite his resolve not to, and Davis is watching them, head tilted. It’s not the smirk he was giving Harrison at church--it’s softer--and Harrison shakes his head quickly to clear it before turning back to Suzie.

“He’s got my number,” he says, and if his voice is a little louder than usual, it’s probably just the whiskey. “I’ll hear from him soon.”

 

By the time they’d served coffee, Harrison had given in and called his parents and he and Suzie had snagged a bottle of Jameson’s from the bar, spiking their coffee before just passing the bottle around the wedding party. Scott had, in fact, wanted to trash the Red Sox with Harrison, slurring about “fucking Johnny Damon” who, Harrison was pretty sure, had not been on the Red Sox in almost ten years.

They stumble in after midnight after saying too-long goodbyes--during which Harrison did _not_ look around for anyone--and piling into Harrison’s parents’ old Buick. Suzie’s giggling and kissing him, unzipping her dress as they trip over each other into the bedroom.

Harrison’s not really in the mood--not even with the pleasant whiskey buzz in his veins--but Suzie’s pressed up against him, running her hands all over his arms and back, her sweet voice in his ear.

“Take me to bed, Harry,” she practically whimpers, sliding her leg between his. “I’ve wanted this all night.”

He just nods and kisses her hard, backing her up toward the bed under her legs hit the side. She’s so small and smooth and fits so nicely under his hands, and he thinks maybe he can make himself want this tonight, for her. “Turn around,” he murmurs in his ear, and she complies, giggling and looking over her shoulder like they’re sharing a secret.

Harrison takes his time undressing her, kissing along her neck and shoulders and trailing his lips down her spine. It’s a stall tactic, he knows, but he’s just not there yet, and everything that usually works for him is barely making a spark.

“Spread your legs,” he whispers, low, and Suzie sighs happily, obeying and lifting her hips at the same time. Harrison slides his fingers into her just to enough to get them slick, and then teases with his fingertips, listening to her gasps and moans while he wraps a hand around himself and strokes quickly, closing his eyes.

Images float behind his eyes, and Harrison tries for about 30 seconds to fight them before he gives in and strokes faster. It’s rough hands and dark hair and his face pressed to the pillow and a heavy weight on him and before Harrison knows it, he’s ready and pushing into Suzie so fast she cries out and grips around him.

It’s fast, faster even than Harrison would want to admit, the phantom hands all over his body, but he brings Suzie over the edge before he comes with a groan, landing heavier on her than he usually would. “Shit. Shit, sorry,” he says, heaving himself up on shaky arms and letting Suzie flip over and slide up the bed.

“What got into you?” she giggles, not sounding like she’s looking for a response. She pulls him down into a kiss before stretching sleepily. “Bedtime,” she sing-songs, and wiggles out from underneath Harrison to run to the bathroom.

Harrison sighs heavily and crawls to his side of the bed. He’s all kinds of gross and he knows he should clean up, but he just can’t bring himself to care. He slides his phone on and scrolls to his text conversations. There’s the outgoing text “he” sent to Davis, and Harrison bites back a sleepy grin: _You should text me sometime even though I’m on the lam and love juicers_. Harrison shrugs. He’s not going to apologize about the juicer. Everyone who’s tried it is now a convert. His parents are missing out.

 

“Pecan’s looking good, but we’re low on pumpkin!”

Razor peeks his head out from the back of the truck, tipping a bin down so Harrison can see that there is, in fact, very little pumpkin ice cream left.

“What about caramel apple?” Harrison makes a right to head down Maple Ave, where he knows they’ll sell at least 10-15 of their new fall dessert combos.

“That looks good too, but--” There’s a small crash, and then Razor reemerges, holding a stack of freshly baked mini pie shells. “Okay, update: we have _sixty_ pie crusts that do not have cracks in them.” He looks so sheepish that Harrison just chuckles.

“The DeMarcos’ll buy them. Tell ‘em it’s five for $20. They’ll save five bucks and each of their kids can have half a pie.”

“Always thinking, Harry.” Razor taps his own head and points to Harrison, the shells precariously teetering in his hand when he does, and ducks back into the “kitchen.”

“That’s me,” Harrison mutters to himself. He raises his voice, “Don’t forget to check the rum raisin!”

_Is my fellow Lastname Lastname still in town or did you head for the border William Henry?_

Harrison had the ringer on high, and he’s so startled he almost slams on the brakes when he hears “start spreading the news…” blaring from the truck’s dashboard.

“Shit!” he swerves the truck before finding a piece of curb to pull up to, ignoring Razor’s “hey!” from the back. “Yeah, in my ice cream truck with my little jingle,” Harrison snorts, and texts back:

_which border? Cananda’s closer but colder. NH’s too cold for me as it is_

Harrison drums his fingers on the steering wheel, waving Razor away probably more frantically than strictly necessary when he pops back up to the cab. He’s staring at the screen when the bubble pops up indicating Davis is typing, and he stares even harder once he sees it, nervous in a way he doesn’t really understand.

_nah gotta head south. drinks on the beach?_

Harrison blinks at the message for several long seconds, trying to figure out if Davis is _asking_ him to get drinks with him in Mexico--a ridiculous idea, right?--or just trying to convince him Mexico’s the better idea. He chews the inside of his cheek while he tries to figure out what to say.

_As long as it’s nothing sweet. Cervezas?_

_oh cmon you don’t like pina coladas?_

Harrison feels his face get hot, and he restarts the truck, cruising down Maple and turning on the music. He’s not sure what Davis wants him to say to that, but either way, he’s going to need a minute to think it over.

Harrison had underestimated how much Maple Ave would want ice cream in a warm pie crust on a Sunday in October, because they sell out most of their stock by three blocks over. They drive by the church and give the rest to the pastor. Harrison makes a note to order less rum raisin next week.

It’s not until Razor speeds away on his skateboard and Harrison pulls the truck carefully into the driveway that they realizes he never answered Davis. At some point in the flurry of ice cream pie-selling, he must have turned his ringer off, because there are three new messages.

_You know what’s next, Benjy_

_Don’t make me say it_

_Okay you asked for it. You don’t like getting caught in the rain?_

Harrison laughs so suddenly he snorts a little, shaking his head at himself and grinning. He hums to himself, thinking, and then fires back a message.

_The rain fucks up my hair. This kind of perfection shouldn’t be messed with._

_Hard to argue with that. But I bet you look good messy._

Harrison just stares at the screen, reading the last message over and over. None of this makes sense. Not the way Davis is talking to him or the thoughts Harrison’s been having or the fact that he’s sitting in the driveway he shares with his _girlfriend_ texting a guy who’s making him feel like it’s suddenly boiling hot out--in New Hampshire in October. His hands are shaking when he lifts his phone to text, and he curses at himself because it’s definitely not supposed to be this thrilling to send a message to another dude. Not for Harrison.

He glances at the house, where Suzie’s probably got Sunday dinner going, and back down to the screen. He can’t pretend what he’s about to type is innocent or a misunderstanding, and he can’t pretend that sending it doesn’t mean something about himself, even if it’s only in the small ways that he’s willing to name. He’s only been out of New York six month, but he still remembers that feeling that he’d tried to leave in Manhattan.

_You want to find out?_

He shuts his phone off completely, barely checking to make sure the text had gone through, and shoves it on his back pocket. Suzie’s waiting for him at the door holding a dish towel, like Harrison thought she might be, and she slings it over her shoulder before kissing Harrison, her arms around his neck.

“I feel like a 50s housewife.” Suzie wrinkles her nose and little, but she’s smiling. “Or my mother that time she got a _Country Living_ subscription and made all our clothes out of patchwork quilts.”

Harrison shakes his head and chuckles, trying to push everything else away. “Roast beef?”

“Mmmhmm. And mashed potatoes. And…” Suzie leans in to whisper in his ear, “Apple crisp.”

“Stop spoiling me,” Harrison grins, but it feels a little shaky. “I’m jumping in the shower and then I’ll set the table. Okay?”

He hears her call out an affirmative as he takes the stairs two at a time, peeling off clothes as he goes. The shower water is way hotter than he usually likes it, but the burn feels kind of good, and Harrison lets himself stand directly under the spray until he’s sure he’s red. He knows the text wasn’t a promise--not really anyway. He knows he could ignore whatever Davis sends him next or laugh it off as harmless flirting-- _flirting_ , Harrison thinks, because he can’t pretend it wasn’t. He knows he still has the choice to go back to his relationship and his job and the life that his entire hometown is proud of. And he knows that no one else would ever guess.

But everything’s already feeling wrong, including the parts of his life that he’d thought were what he’d been looking for when he shed New York. Harrison knows it’s ridiculous that a couple conversations and some texts could have rattled free something he’d successfully ignored since he was in high school and dating Suzie the first time. But he can’t deny that he feels like a completely different person than he did before the wedding.

 

Harrison leaves his phone off the rest of the evening, through what ends up being a nice dinner with Suzie-that does not, thankfully, have any rum raisin ice cream in it--and watching The Walking Dead until Suzie falls asleep curled up on the couch. He briefly debates turning his phone back on, but decides that no matter what the reply says, it’s not something he feels like dealing with on a Sunday night when he’s still full from the dinner his girlfriend made. Instead, he catches the end of the Ravens-Browns game, grinning at Manziel’s press conference, and then plays old Super Mario games until he’s tired enough to crawl into bed without having to think.

He leaves the phone off most of Monday, too, all the way up until he leaves to stock up the truck at his parents’ and head on his route. His phone is already back in his pocket when the messages hit his inbox, and he feels them come in in a series of rapid-fire vibrations, maybe five or six, though he tries hard not to let himself count them.

“Got us some more of that rum raisin, Hare!” Harrison’s dad knocks on the truck window and grin goofily. Harrison tries not to roll his eyes.

“Why? You hungry today?” He hops out of the cab and starts loading up the freezer and preheating the oven.

“Now, listen, Harry, we have an investors meeting tomorrow night, and your mother said the Barneses are coming,” Ben calls into the back of the truck.

“Okay,” Harrison shrugs. “I’ll see if Suzie wants to go, too, but she might already be planning on it.” Harrison knows he’s half-lying. Suzie’s had the meeting date on their synced iCalendars for a month.

“Well, son, that’s the other thing…” Harrison gets the first batch of pie shells in the oven and hops out of the truck, raising an eyebrow at his father and waiting for him to continue. “Ah, see, your mother and me were talking the other day…” He stops and looks at Harrison a little helplessly.

“Not a mindreader, Pops,” Harrison says gently. “Everything okay?”

“Oh sure, sure, everything’s fine. We were just wondering, ah, if you’ve thought at all about making an honest woman out of Suzie.” Ben runs a hand over his forehead and looks off to the side.

“Dad. No one talks like that. C’mon, Suzie’s not--” Harrison shakes his head. This damn town hasn’t changed since he was a kid. “She’s not property and she’s not any worse of a person if she’s not married. That’s not cool.”

“That’s my bad, son. My bad.” Ben holds his hands up in a ‘surrender’ gesture. “I can’t always keep up with those things. But we do want to make sure you’re….yanno...planning on settling down.”

“That’s not a conversation we’re having yet, Dad,” Harrison starts, suddenly uncomfortable. “I think we’re both cool with where we are now.” He shrugs, hoping his father will get the hint and drop it.

Ben sighs. “Your mother and I were just hoping that you’d be settled soon, Harry. All this uncertainty isn’t good for you or Suzie.”

Harrison jumps back into the truck to take the shells out of the oven, stacking them on racks in the warmer. Of all the conversations his father could want to have with him this week, this might be one of the worst. He pats his phone, still sitting unchecked in his back pocket, and hops back down.

“We’re fine. I promise. No one’s uncertain. Everything’s _fine_ , Dad. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Not one part of that sentence is the truth.

“Well, all right then, son. If you’re sure.” Ben looks like he doesn’t believe Harrison as much as Harrison doesn’t believe himself, but he shrugs anyway and grabs the last of the ice cream for Harrison, who loads and locks the freezer and hops in the front seat. If he’s going to check his texts before he picks up Razor, he needs to leave now.

As soon as Harrison’s out of his father’s sight, he idles the engine and pulls out his phone. Now or never, he thinks to himself, and he’s a little surprised to realize that he’s really okay with whatever those messages say.

_I’d be an idiot to say no to that_

_Saw you didn’t answer. We’re good either way W.H._

_Hope I didn’t come on too strong._

_Whatever you gotta do hope you’re well_

_I’ll be back around your neck of the woods next week Benjy. Figure if nothing else we can all use more friends._

Harrison stares at the screen, scrolling up and down and reading the sequence over and over. He can’t stop picturing Davis going from intrigued to worried to supportive, and he feels a wave of guilt that’s quickly overtaken by an exciting twisting in his stomach that he hasn’t felt in years. _...good either way_. _If nothing else…_. He shifts the truck back into drive and knows before he gets to Razor’s house that he’s going to meet up with Davis in a week and he’s pretty sure he has enough friends.

For a Monday, their route is non-stop sales, and Harrison’s exhausted by the time he pulls the truck into his driveway. Suzie’s out with her friends at Trivia Night, so Harrison had picked up Chinese on the way, which he eats in front of Monday Night Football and washes down with half a six-pack of Sam Adams.

By halftime, Suzie’s texted to let him know she’ll be swinging by the gallery to put in a couple hours there, and would he be okay if she didn’t get home until Harrison’s already asleep? Harrison exhales, enjoying his very slight buzz, and cleans up the living room, stuffing the cartons and bottles in the bottom of the trash can and covering them with newspapers. He lies down on the couch, mostly tuning out Jon Gruden and company, and lets the buzz make his limbs feel loose and that fluttering in his stomach come back.

_Offer still stand?_

The Pats get three first downs before Harrison gets a reply, and it startles him somehow, even though he’d texted first.

_Anything you want._

Harrison feels a _rush_ go through him at that, and he puts a hand over his lower stomach, trying to calm down.

_What if I want something I’m not supposed to want?_

_Who says you’re not?_

Harrison looks around the room. Almost everything in the house is Suzie’s still, including the kitchen curtains that look like a cartoon picnic tablecloth and the yoga mats piled up in the corner.

_You’ve seen this town dude. You know what I’m supposed to be and not supposed to be._

_Tell me what you want._

_I want_

Harrison stops, closing his eyes briefly. When he tries to make what he’s feeling form images, it’s a fuzzy haze of strong hands and long limbs pressed against him, hard _everywhere_.

 _I want you holding me down_ he finishes, and it’s one of the truest things he’s said in a long time.

_Yeah? You look like a strong guy. I’d have to press down pretty hard._

Harrison shudders a little at that. He slides the hand that had been on his stomach down just a little and squeezes his length with his palm.

_all of you. I want to feel all of you._

_Want to feel how solid I am on top of you? Bet you’d try pushing back. Bet you want to test how strong I am._

Harrison arches his back and closes his eyes. He can almost feel Davis long on top of him, his breath in Harrison’s ear. He remembers Davis’s fingers curling around his beer bottle, and Harrison can feel them wrapped around his biceps, squeezing with enough pressure to bruise.

_Don’t let me. Please._

Harrison tips his head back, his mouth suddenly dry when he tries to swallow. He’s starting to stroke himself now, over his sweats, and he’s grateful for the fabric dulling sensation, because he’s not sure how long he’d be able to last. He feels like he’s 15 again.

_I won’t. Promise._

Harrison barely catches his breath when he next message piggybacks the last.

_You’d be able to feel how hard I am. Can you feel it. You did that to me._

A groan slips out before Harrison can stop it. He licks his lips. He _can_ feel it, hot against his own, and he squeezes himself a little harder as he strokes, pressing down.

_Feels so good please don’t stop_

_No? You want me to keep pressing down? Sliding against you_

_How hard are you Harrison_

Harrison’s panting a little now, his cheeks hot. The friction of his sweats is just this side of too much, but Harrison rolls his hips at the burn, imagining it’s the drag of Davis’s body along it. He texts with a shaky hand now.

_So hard can feel you you’re so good so hot press harder_

_Good. Think you can keep up if I move faster can you catch yr breath_

Harrison purposely sucks in a breath and holds it until he’s lightheaded, sliding his fist faster in short desperate strokes. He’s so close, just teetering on the edge, the rough burn sending sparks all over. Part of his brain registers that Davis’s typing is getting messier, but he can’t let himself hope.

_Don’t care more please more_

_You like that when you can barely breathe_ Harrison doesn’t think it’s a question but he nods before realizing Davis can’t see him. _Youre so hot like this under me and hard and dying to come_

The whimper that comes out of Harrison is so loud and sudden that he startles himself, but he can’t deny that Davis is right.

_Yes I need to please let me come please_

He can feel himself babbling in his head but he doesn’t care. He’s almost in pain holding himself back but Davis hasn’t given him permission, so he grits his teeth, more whimpers slipping out.

_You want to feel me come pressed down against you when you finally let go_

_Knowing that your body did that to me_

Harrison holds his breath again, his hand completely still. He’s suddenly worried that Davis isn’t _ever_ going to give him permission, and he’s not sure if he could do it otherwise.

_Cmon Harrison come with me._

He does, his hips trying to arch against nothing, the release shuddering out what almost feels like a sob. He feels like he comes forever, his hand and the inside of his sweats a mess when he finally comes down, and he fumbles for his phone with his clean hand.

_Shit. I don’t think I can move again._

_Yeah no kidding, Benjy._

Harrison wipes his hand off as best as he can, grimacing at the stain, and sits back up. His head’s still spinning, but it feels good, and he grins down at his phone like Davis can see it.

_That was awesome. It’s cool to say thanks, right?_

_Yeah it’s more than cool to say thanks. And same. You doing okay?_

_Yeah I am. Guess I can’t deny anything to myself OR you now huh_

_That’s not a bad thing._

_I know. Just hard to get used to._

The game’s over. Harrison has no idea who won, but he’s not willing to click away from the conversation to check. He’s suddenly so grateful to his past-self for thinking to clean and stow the garbage away before he texted Davis, because now he can head up to bed without doing anything else.

_Want to talk about it in person? I get in Sunday._

Harrison knows he probably _should_ hesitate or check with Suzie to see if they’re free or at least think that it might be a bad idea, but he does none of those things, texting Davis back even as he’s heading into the bathroom to wash up.

_It’s a date._

_You got it. I’ll bring flowers._

_Have a good night, Harrison._

He frowns mid-reply, staring down at the screen. Nothing about this has been traditional, which Harrison admits to himself has felt like a breath of fresh air, but he realizes that he knows virtually nothing about Davis still, except that he drinks beer and Harrison was able to get him off.

_Hey man wait I don’t even know where you’ll be traveling from._

Davis’s reply is so fast that Harrison can almost hear the laugh of realization behind it.

_Oh I guess you don’t do you? I live in New York._

 

The difference, Harrison realizes, between being terrified of who he is and accepting it as reality, is that his stress is now all external. The problem is that, for now at least, there’s a lot more of it than there was before, even if it feels lighter. Maybe Harrison could have told himself that the texting he other night twas a one-time thing--that he had one beer too many and having someone want him felt good. But even if Davis hadn’t been coming back into town, Harrison knows he would have wanted more, wants more. And that’s going to require talking to Suzie sooner rather than later.

Harrison’s a little bit of a jackass; he’ll easily admit that no amount of time spent in his quiet hometown was ever going to shake that out of him completely. But he’s not the kind of jackass who stays with his girlfriend when he knows she’s not what he’s going to want maybe ever again. Even if this thing with Davis doesn’t turn into anything real, Harrison can’t pretend that his realization was only limited to one guy.

He puts the conversation off as long as he possibly can, texting Suzie from the truck on the end of his route on Friday to let her know he has something to tell her and that she should hold off on dinner. He knows it’s not ideal--that she’s probably sitting at home nervous now--but the idea of Suzie cooking them dinner before he breaks the news to her is just something he can’t handle.

The lights are mostly off when he walks in the door, just one lamp in the living room on Suzie’s side of the couch. She’s sitting there, chewing on her thumbnail, when Harrison walks in the door. He was right in that she looks like she’s been sitting there since he texted, but he tries to look as calm as possible as he sits across from her in the recliner.

“You know I love you…” Harrison starts, but stops when he sees Suzie’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t. Just tell me what you’ve got to say. It’ll be better for both of us.” She’s gripping the arm of the couch now with her other hand, and Harrison can see that her knuckles are white.

“We can’t be together anymore.”

Suzie nods once, firmly, but she’s chewing on her lip and her chin is quivering. “Okay,” she gets out. “Okay. Now tell me why.”

“Shit. Shit okay, yeah,” Harrison says, and any other time he’d almost laugh, because Suzie hates when he swears. “I...don’t know if I like women.” It’s the closest thing to the truth he has right now, especially when thinking about the exact words for what he’s feeling brings up a whole mess of things about where he belongs that Harrison just isn’t ready to deal with right now. One thing at a time, he reminds himself.

“Oh my god,” Suzie says, and then, to Harrison’s shock, she starts _laughing_ , throwing her head back almost hysterically and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I was.”

“No no I mean,” Suzie manages, still laughing, “Not again!”

Harrison blinks, trying to process that. He’s pretty sure even he didn’t know about his feelings until the night of the wedding, so how could he have done this to Suzie before? “But I wasn’t-- I didn’t--”

“Not you!” Suzie huffs out. “My goodness, Harry! Not everything is about you!”

“So what-- Oh! Wait. The preppy dude?”

Suzie throws her hands up at that. “Just my luck, right?” She laughs again, but it’s short and bitter-sounding to Harrison’s ears. “Maybe I’m sending out some signal or something. ‘Hey, gay men! Suzie’s safe and available for your last-ditch effort to be straight!’ Is that the right term? I don’t even know! I don’t know anything about this and I’m the one who seems to keep getting dragged into it and getting my heart broken!” She’s standing now, pacing in front of the couch. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Harry!”

“I-I know, Suze. I know. I wish I had answers…” he shakes his head and furrows his brow. He knows why he started dating her again--knows why he stayed to begin with--but none of that is good enough or _really_ explains why this is happening now, or to Suzie at all. “It’s killing me that--”

“Stop.” Suzie sits back down across from him. She clears her throat. “I know you’re a decent guy, Harry. And I’m sure you really do feel bad. But please spare me the exaggeration. There’s no way you feel worse about this than I do.” She sighs and rubs a hand over her eyes. “Go find your happiness, Harry.”

Harrison squints at her, his gut churning again with guilt even as the relief of coming out--and Harrison has to admit that that’s exactly what he did--floods him. It’s not supposed to be this easy and it feels almost unfair.

Suzie rolls her eyes. “I know that face. You used to make it when you skipped Mr. Jefferson’s class and didn’t get caught. It’s fine. I’m still pissed and hurt but it’s fine. Really. I should not be reassuring you, you big baby.” She smiles a little and shakes her head. “And not that you deserve it, but I won’t say anything to your parents or mine about why.”

“Thanks,” he says quietly, feeling his face get hot over getting called out. “I appreciate it.”

“But we’re not giving this a _third_ try if you change your mind,” she says, wagging her finger and grinning. “I’m putting my foot down this time.”

 

Harrison has a distinct sense of deja vu when he trudges up the driveway to his parents’ house, carrying two suitcases full of what ended up being a good portion of his belongings from Suzie’s. His parents look stunned when he walks in the house, which Harrison realizes, with an exhale, means that Suzie really did keep her promise, and he waves them off while he deposits the two suitcases and the rest of his stuff he’d stashed in the truck up in his old room--again.

“It’s over with Suzie,” he says, once he’s back in the living room and standing in front of his parents. “It just wasn’t going to work.” He shrugs a little and tries to look as regretful as possible without making his parents think there’s still a chance for reconciliation.

“Oh, Harry,” Marla tuts, putting down her crossword puzzle to pull Harrison into a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” She puts her hands on either side of Harrison’s face and gives Harrison a look of pity he knows he doesn’t deserve.

“Well, son, I can’t say I’m not disappointed.” Ben sighs, hefting himself up from the couch. “Your mother and I just wanted to see you happy and settled.”

“Benjamin!” Marla swats at him. “That’s enough! Harry wouldn’t make a decision like this unless he knew he’d be happier without her. Am I right, sweetie?”

“Yeah, Ma.” Harrison shrugs at both of them before excusing himself to go up to his new-old room again. It’s not until he falls onto his bed, still clothed and on top of the comforter, that he realizes how exhausted he is. He’s let go of almost everything he needs to; he doesn’t know that he’ll tell his parents about his feelings for guys for a long time, maybe not unless he’s very serious with someone. Everything feels loose and boneless for the first time in a long time, and Harrison sags onto the bed, curling his arms around his pillow. He’s back at his parents’ house and everything he owns fits in an ice cream truck, but he’s never felt more free.

 

The next day and a half feels like a giant blur of nerves and excitement and trying to hide the nerves and excitement from everyone around him. Twice at breakfast on Saturday, his mother has to take the orange juice jug from Harrison before it slips out of his hand, and he forgets his route that afternoon so many times that Razor has to drive. Everyone dismisses it at fallout from the breakup, which isn’t entirely incorrect, and Harrison just shrugs sheepishly when they bring it up.

He hasn’t told Davis that things with Suzie are over. He’s not sure that that’s the kind of thing you tell your one-time sexting partner-slash-maybe future romantic partner over the phone. Besides, if Davis isn’t interested in Harrison the same way, Harrison can save himself the embarrassment of seeming presumptuous. If dating rules with guys are even half as difficult to navigate as they are with girls, Harrison figures he’s better off being as casual as possible. Davis does text him twice over the weekend: once on Saturday night to send him a photoshopped picture of Benjamin and William Henry hanging out with Martha Stewart, and once the next morning to give him his itinerary. He’s renting a car in Boston and driving up, and he suggests that Harrison just meet him at his hotel. At that, the fluttering in Harrison’s stomach goes into a whole new gear, and he ends up driving to Concord for a haircut and new clothes. At the last minute, he goes ahead and books a room in the same hotel. He’s not entirely sure why it seems like a good idea, but at the worst, he can have a few nights to himself.

Harrison’s supposed to be meeting Davis at six, so he and Razor run through their route earlier than usual, still not selling any more rum raisin than before, and he gives Razor a thorough rundown of everything he’ll need to run the business alone for the rest of the week. Because the town is what it is, everyone from the reverend at ice cream drop-off to Rizzi at the Circle-K knows about his “trip to Boston to visit friends.” Harrison nods and smiles, shrugging about playing hooky on weekdays, and thanks his luck that Davis’s hotel is outside the town limits.

He gets to the Sheraton a good 20 minutes before Davis said he’d be there, and sits at the bar, nursing a Coke and scrolling through his Twitter feed, frowning at the Beckham injury rumors.

“Again? I told you, Apple’s not out to get you. I promise.”

Davis is walking up to the bar, a duffel slung over his shoulder and a smirk on his face. It takes Harrison a beat to realize why Davis looks so different, until it dawns on him that he’s only ever seen him in a suit and tie. Harrison can admit that he might like the jeans and a flannel Davis is wearing now even better.

Harrison’s beaming before he realizes it, the fluttering coming together until Harrison just blurts, “Oh my god, you’re here.”

“In the flesh.” Davis winks and shoulders his bag to the ground, sliding onto the stool next to Harrison. “So are you.”

“That’s the rumor.” Harrison can’t stop smiling, and he knows he must look ridiculous, but Davis is in front of him and looks amazing and Harrison can’t really make himself care.

Davis signals to the bartender. “Jack okay?” When Harrison nods, he order that and a beer for himself, and turns back to Harrison. “So when were you going to tell me you ran an ice cream truck business?”

Harrison can feel his eyes go wide, but Davis just puts his hand on Harrison’s knee, and he looks like he’s holding back laughter. “Of course I googled. It’s fine. It’s great, even. I want to hear all about it.” Davis looks like he actually does think it’s great that Harrison runs the family ice cream truck business, squeezing Harrison’s knee and grinning at him with what looks like fondness.

“Oh, you know,” Harrison picks up the drink the bartender had put in front of him, and sips it. “There’s some scooping. Sometimes some cones. Just your standard frozen dairy treats.” He raises an eyebrow at Davis.

“Oh c’mon. Does your truck play a song?” Harrison takes another sip, casting his eyes away. “Does it?! It does! What does it play?”

Harrison sighs. “‘The Entertainer’,” he mumbles. Davis just chuckles and slides his hand a little higher.

“A classic.” He tips his beer back, and Harrison has to look away so he doesn’t stare at Davis’s fingers. It’s a futile effort, he soon realizes, when he feels the fingers of Davis’s other hand starts stroking along the inside of his thigh.

Oh. Harrison lets his legs fall open just enough to give permission and scoots forward on his stool. His heart’s already pounding so loud he’s sure Davis can hear it.

“So did you google me?”

It takes Harrison a few seconds to process that Davis is talking to him, but he shakes his head clear and focuses on Davis, who is looking expectant and a little smug.

“Oh, no. I didn’t” Harrison shrugs, because it’s true. He hadn’t thought of it at all, actually, and even now he has to remind himself that he knows very little about Davis, especially considering Davis had shaken up his reality so thoroughly.

“It’s okay,” Davis says, so low that Harrison has to lean closer to hear him. “I have a feeling we’ll be learning a lot more about each other.”

It should be cheesy, and maybe it still is, but something about Davis’s voice hits Harrison right between his legs, and he shifts on his stool. If Davis notices, he’s not planning on laughing at Harrison about it, because he just moves his hand even higher, his fingertips teasing near the seam of Harrison’s fly.

“Can we--” Harrison pauses to gulp the rest of his drink, shuddering at the burn. “Can we start that now?”

Davis’s smile is huge and genuine, and he leans over all the way to whisper in Harrison’s ear. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

Kissing a guy is nothing like kissing a girl, Harrison realizes, though he also realizes he hadn’t given the differences much thought before. Davis is solid up against him, one of his arms across Harrison’s back and the other hand spanning the side of his head, his thumb stroking Harrison’s temple. They’re lying on their sides on Davis’s hotel bed, still clothed except for the hem of Harrison’s shirt, which Davis managed to get untucked before they fell on the bed.

They’ve been kissing for what feels like hours, though Harrison concedes it’s probably been no more than 20 minutes, and Harrison’s pressing as close as he can, one of his leg between Davis’s and his own arm draped over his body. He can feels Davis hard against his hip, and it’s thrilling in a way he’s never experienced before, all of that hot insistent evidence of how much Harrison’s turned someone else on just pressing against his body.

Davis pulls his mouth away to start planting kisses along Harrison’s neck and down to his collarbone. “Take your shirt off,” he murmurs, and it’s not a suggestion. Harrison rolls away long enough to pull his shirt over his head, taking the opportunity to nudge his sneakers off too. When he rolls back, he sees that Davis had done more or less the same, and Harrison takes a minute to let his eyes travel over Davis’s body. He’s bigger and broader than Harrison, clearly strong enough to do exactly what Harrison had been begging for. He’s lighter, too, with a trail of almost-blonde hair leading down from his navel. It’s oddly charming, Harrison thinks, since the hair on his head is so much darker, and Harrison’s mouth waters, wondering suddenly what it’d feel like to put his mouth there.

Davis shakes his head when Harrison reaches for him again, and the next thing Harrison knows, he’s flat on his back with Davis stretched out long on top of him. He lets out a shuddering sigh at the pressure, and Davis chuckles in his ear, his breath pleasantly warm and tingling.

“This what you wanted?”

Harrison nods, his eyes closed, and tests how firmly Davis has him pressed to the mattress, just as he said he would. Davis tsks at him and grinds his hips down harder, moving his hands to wrap them around Harrison’s biceps, squeezing until it almost hurts.

It’s an almost step-by-step reenactment of their texting, and Harrison’s head is already spinning, knowing what’s next. Davis rolls his hips down, hard, still gripping Harrison’s biceps, and Harrison moans loudly, flexing as much as he can to try and press back up and urge Davis along faster. That only makes Davis grind down harder and squeeze with his hands.

“I don’t think so,” Davis chuckles, and Harrison can hear his breath hitch. “You don’t get to move.”

It’s burning, way better than it felt before, the insistent drag of Davis against him creating a throbbing heat alongside the painful sensation. Harrison really can’t move, his body completely at Davis’s mercy, and the thought of _that_ makes him moan again. Davis cuts the noise short by kissing him wet and dirty, his tongue driving into Harrison’s mouth with what feels like almost as much force as his hips are pinning Harrison to the bed. Davis is _everywhere_ , and Harrison feels almost like he’s being consumed. It’s exactly what he’d wanted.

“Please,” Harrison gasps out as soon as Davis pulls his mouth away, like the word had been building in him the entire time he was being kissed. He’s a little startled, because he’s not even sure what he’s asking for. Everything feels damn near perfect, down to Davis’s now-growling pants in his ear, but maybe there’s something more his body’s looking for.

Davis lifts his head and studies Harrison carefully, finally nodding. He lifts himself up onto his knees. Harrison whimpers at the loss of contact and pressure. Davis raises an eyebrow at that, watching Harrison while he undoes his jeans and pushes them and his boxer-briefs down his hips. Harrison feels his eyes widen, and he licks his lips almost unconsciously. He’d never thought he could find other men’s bodies so _sexy_ , but Davis is hard and flushed, and Harrison suddenly wants to _taste_.

He’s so focused on the thought that he doesn’t even notice that Davis already has his jeans undone until he feels a sharp swat on his hip. Harrison obediently lifts his hips so Davis can tug his jeans and underwear down. He feels exposed in a way he never has with girls, but there’s something exciting about the way Davis is looking all over his body. Davis nods again, apparently to himself, and then takes Harrison’s wrists in his hands, bringing his arms over his head and pinning them there, switching his grip to one hand once he’s sure Harrison’s not going to move. Harrison flexes his hands, sighing at the way Davis is almost grinding his wrists together.

Davis lowers himself slowly, more slowly than Harrison thinks is really fair, but then there’s skin touching _everywhere_ and Harrison forgives him, because it may be the best thing Harrison’s ever felt in his life.

“Look at you. You love this. I’m just holding you down and rubbing on you and you’re losing your mind.”

Harrison tips his head back and the sound that comes out is _definitely_ a whimper, but he doesn’t care. Davis is sliding all over him, and it’s too dry, too much, and he wants more more more.

All too soon, though, he feels himself getting close, the sliding getting easier and more frantic. Davis’s mouth is against his neck, biting down on every roll of his hips, and Harrison practically cries out in frustration. Davis knows. He _knows_ Harrison’s waiting for permission, and he’s not giving it. Finally, when Harrison’s convinced he’s going to pass out before he’s able to come, Davis lifts his head to Harrison’s ear, his voice low and commanding.

“Come with me. Now.”

Harrison does on a groan, his hands flexing into fists above his head. He can feel himself drifting, the sound in his ears just white noise, but he grounds himself just enough to feel Davis coming just a few seconds later, adding to the mess Harrison can already feel on his stomach.

He shudders, letting his body relax entirely, and the next thing he knows, someone’s wiping his stomach clean with what feels like a warm washcloth.

“Hi,” he says, blinking his eyes open. Davis is grinning at him. He tosses the washcloth toward the corner of the room and reaches for Harrison’s wrists, massaging them gently in each hand.

“You doing okay?” Harrison nods, because he really really is. “Good. Me too, before you ask.” Davis winks and lifts each of Harrison’s wrists to his mouth, kissing each one before laying Harrison’s arms back on the bed down by his sides. He lies down on his side next to Harrison, propping his head up on his arm. Harrison grins, watching him.

“Is this supposed to be weird?”

“Well,” Davis says, reaching over to run his fingers up and down Harrison’s stomach. Harrison shivers. “I can’t answer that for you, but _I_ don’t think so.”

“Even the part where I was straight with a girlfriend and hadn’t even met you three weeks ago?”

Davis nods, smiling. “Even that part.” He stops moving his hand and just curls it around Harrison’s side. “Is any of that still true?”

Harrison shakes his head, one side of his mouth pulling up at the unasked question. “Not anymore.”

“Then I think you have your answer.” Davis pauses, and then his face breaks into a grin. “George.”

“George?”

“You know,” Davis mimes playing guitar on Harrison’s stomach. “ _I look at you all, see the love there that’s sleeping…_ ”

“Oh no,” Harrison groans, drawing out the last syllable. “But hey! I didn’t know you could sing!”

Davis shrugs. “I’m full of surprises.” Harrison raises his eyebrows. “Good surprises,” he says quickly, before Harrison can say what he was thinking. “I promise, you’ll get the full autobiography.” He kisses Harrison’s shoulder. “With footnotes.”

“Oh yeah?” Harrison rolls toward him, letting Davis’s arm go around his waist. “You know, there’s a lot Google can’t tell you about me. I have tons of surprises for you. _Tons_.”

“Oh I believe you,” Davis says, sliding his hand down to Harrison’s ass. “In the meantime, why don’t I start with Chapter 1?”

 

“It’s Sunday morning!” Harrison calls from the bathroom, shouting over the ringing phone. “Tell Helen I don’t care if the dairy shut down or the orchard got hit by a comet or the factory turned into Wonkaville. We’ll deal with it tomorrow!”

“On it!” Davis calls back from the bedroom. “But I’m not giving her any more free pints for her trouble. We need to break even this quarter.”

“Oh come on,” Harrison grins, walking back into the bedroom. “She didn’t eat _that_ much Pecan Pie.”

“It wasn’t the Pecan that put us in the red.” Davis hands him the sports section of the Times. “It was the Pumpkin.”

“Yeah, well, Pumpkin’s the best. Who could blame her?”

Davis shakes his head. “I’m going to ask you one more time: are you _sure_ G-S didn’t fire you for giving away stocks?”

Harrison swats at him half-heartedly, scrolling through his texts. “Do you want to meet Joe and Casey at Ess-a-Bagel?” He snorts, reading the rest of the message. “Apparently they have some fool-proof secret plan for getting a table.”

Davis groans. “No more Joe and Casey for a week, at least. You remember what happened the last time.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think we’re going to see Lin-Manuel in Midtown at 10am.”

“I take no chances, Benjy!” Davis waves his finger in the air pointedly. “Next week is fine.”

Harrison taps out a reply and lies back against the pillows. “Piccolo and the park instead?”

“Mmm.” Davis leans over to kiss him. “This is why I love you.” He throws his legs over the side of the bed, stretching. “Give me 20. No, ten.” His stomach growls audibly and Harrison stifles a laugh. “Yeah, definitely ten. And then egg sandwiches will be ours!”

This time, Harrison does laugh, and he keeps chuckling to himself as he hears the shower turn on. It’s going to be sunny all day, the first really nice warm day of the year, and Harrison walks over to the window facing the street, tugging the blinds up. The kids across the street are already on their front steps, listening to music, and there’s a family walking in front of Harrison’s building, the youngest trying to climb out of her stroller. Harrison grins and turns back to their apartment, still messy from the move but cozy, with Harrison’s video game console set up in front of the bed and his juicer triumphantly in its place of honor on the kitchen counter.

It’s not where Harrison thought he’d be six months ago, not any part of it, but it’s messy and wonderful. And they’re still working through their autobiographies with each other, but the best part is, they’re adding more chapter all the time.

Yeah, Harrison grins to himself, as he hears the water turn off and Davis start singing “Taxman.” He’s finally home.

 

[Downloadable Fanmix](https://www.dropbox.com/s/795m2ari5q3ewtx/WMTE.zip?dl=0)


End file.
